


Skeleton

by QueensJenn



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Gen, Ick, Sickness, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensJenn/pseuds/QueensJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dawn has never liked prawns. She reckons Anders probably doesn’t now either.</p><p>Based off a prompt in Aramirandme81's fic "One Word at a Time".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skeleton

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aramirandme81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aramirandme81/gifts).



> Based off a prompt in Aramirandme81's fic "One Word at a Time".
> 
> The prompt was: 
> 
> Skeletal: "Anders, I know you really don’t want to eat, but unless you start to, you won’t need a costume come Halloween."

Blame the prawns. When in doubt, always blame the prawns. 

They are the reason, after all, that her boss/friend/not-quite-boyfriend is currently curled up in bed; the reason that he’d spent Friday afternoon, Friday night, and most of Saturday morning curled up on the bathroom floor. 

Dawn has never liked prawns. She reckons Anders probably doesn’t now either. 

And as tempting as it is to make fun of him, she just can’t bring herself to. The stupid bastard is emetophobic at the best of times; the last 24 hours has seen him hyperventilate himself into two panic attacks. So even though this _is_ sort of his fault, after he ditched two meetings to go schmooze with a potential client, _and_ eating the prawns even though he’d thought they’d tasted kind of off, Dawn doesn’t have it in her to be cruel. 

“Anders,” she calls softly, standing in the doorway. The bathroom door is open and there’s a bucket next to the bed, but he hasn’t needed either in hours, so it seems to be subsiding. 

The lump of blankets responds with a sound that’s only vaguely human. 

“I made some soup.”

“You are cruel.”

“You need to eat something.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“You haven’t been sick in hours. I think you can keep some plain soup down. You’ll feel better if you eat.”

At that, he pulls the blanket off his head and looks at her. “Not likely.”

“Yes likely. You need to keep your strength up.”

He grumbles at that but he’s not fooling anyone. He’s pale and haggard and seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. And he’s visibly lost weight - maybe as much as 10 pounds, if she had to guess. And it’s not as if he could really afford to lose it in the first place. He’s always been thin, but now he’s on track to ‘skeletal.’ 

“Anders, I know you really don’t want to eat, but unless you start to, you won’t need a costume come Halloween.”

That, at least, gets a reaction. He snorts weakly and rolls his eyes, pushing himself up into a more comfortable sitting position. She hands him the bowl and spoon, and he actually manages to eat three quarters of the contents before grimacing and biting his lip. 

“I can’t…Dawn…” he’s breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead.

“All right, relax…” she takes a bowl from him and stands up, ready to move out of the way. But after a few tense minutes the nausea ebbs away and Anders sinks back against the pillows, drained and exhausted.

“I’m dying, Dawn,” he says pitifully. 

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.” 

“No one made you eat those prawns.”

He swallows convulsively and takes a deep, long breath through his nose. “Don’t…don’t mention those things.”

She can’t repress a soft laugh. “Okay. You can try some more soup in a while.” She picks up the bowl and starts to move away, but he grabs her hand.

“Lie with me?” 

“What?”

“Please Dawn…let me feel the touch of a woman one last time.”

“You need a shower.”

“I’m dying.”

“No you’re not!”

“Fine.” He curls back up and seems to _sink_ into the mattress, and he looks so small and sick, like he’s drowning in a sea of blankets, that she feels her heart melt. This is Anders Johnson at his most vulnerable; no one else will ever see him this way but he trusts her, he trusts her not to hurt him.

She sets the bowl down on the night table, then comes around the other side of the bed. He makes a small sound as she lays down on top of the covers, curling one arm over his chest and pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. He twists around to look at her, eyebrow raised, and she smiles. 

“The carpet cleaners called back,” she says after awhile. His eyes are closed but she knows he’s still awake.

“Hmm.”

“They say the stain will come right out.”

“Great.”

“But  do try not to projectile vomit on the office floor again. It isn’t cheap.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good.” She kisses his shoulder again. “Now go to sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours for some more soup.

He lets out a weak groan of dismay. 

Fucking prawns. 


End file.
